Hellfire
by UnluckyIrishBreifcase
Summary: When Iceland appears to vanish from the face of the earth, the nations find themselves working with some rather strange beings in order to find out what happened him. What they discover, however, is a twisted scheme that threatens to bathe the land in fire and brimstone, and bring the world as we know it to its knees.
1. Chapter 1: A Stranger at the Door

Author's Note: _I'm Baaack_! And with a new fic!

This one is gonna be a bit longer than the last one, with a bit more effort.

I'm posting the first chapter a bit early, so don't expect the next on for at least a few more days.

Just got back from the first day of Fanime! If anyone's going and wants to say hi, I'm going again tomorrow. Just look for the Clear from Dramatical Murder with glasses and no coat!

Hope You Enjoy!

-Erin

* * *

If you asked any nation in the world to describe complete, total, utter, and absolute unproductivity, in only two words or less, they would all say the exact same thing:

World. Conference.

The event was purely an exercise in sheer futility, a comedy of errors that had long ago ceased to be comical. And every year the poor schmuck of a country that was supposed to host it had to play it out all over again.

This year, it was Norway who had the dubious honor of holding the cursed thing. He was currently slumped in defeat over the table, watching the various attendees, almost 2 hundred in all, file in. The meeting hadn't begun, and he was already willing it to be over with all his might.

In a few minutes, most every nation had shown up and taken their seat. With a sigh, Norway stood up at the head of the conference table. He eyed them all, confirming that enough were here. He clapped his hands three times, getting everyone's attention.

"Alright, now that everyone's here," he started.

"Where's Iceland!" England interrupted. Norway suppressed the urge to roll his eyes.

"He's two hours behind us, He's probably still asleep," Denmark called out in the absent nation's defense.

"Well that's no excuse!" Netherlands declared.

"He'll get here when he gets here!" Norway told them. There were still a few grumblings, but no one brought the matter up again. "Now, can we please get roll call done?" A few nodded, and everyone stayed relatively quiet. Norway picked up a list from the table listing every one that should have been there.. "Alright; Afghanistan!"

"Here!"

The meeting went just as Norway had expected. The moment roll-call was finished, everyone immediately went to discussing their own business. Not a single nation was able to get the attention of the whole room, and the agenda was almost universally ignored. Norway had made the decision not to try and take a leaderly role. Instead, he sat back, and watched the anarchy unfold. There was shouting, bickering, whispering, taunting, chattering. The volume in the room was amazing, a true testament to the sheer vocal power of, give or take, one and a half hundred people.

He only paid attention to anything up when a rather interesting scene began to play out near the other end of the room. A sizeable group had clustered, and Norway craned his head to see what was up.

Each nation in the group was hastily constructing and testing various paper airplanes. Some were ducking around, getting peaks at various designs, before reporting back to other others. It was an all-out mini arms race. The experimental stationery craft were zipping around the conference room. Norway was actually legitimately impressed when one made it almost the entire length of the room. This fighter, crafted by Germany of all nations, was declared the victor, and the belligerents shuffled back to the table.

An actual bit of business took place, much to Norway's surprise, when a few individuals actually got the room to hand over whatever agricultural information they had brought. This burst of productivity ceased soon enough, and chaos reigned once more. He settled his head on his arms, and observed.

As noon approached, Norway started to grow worried.

Iceland, whose absence had been noted earlier, had still not arrived. His younger brother wasn't answering any texts or phone calls, even though Norway was sure he would have been awake by then. He shifted around, glancing at his phone every other second. This went on for almost an hour as he waited for a reply.

None came, and Norway decided that the republic was simply playing truant. He huffed, and settled back down. France and England were having another spat, and Norway had to be ready to send in Denmark or Sweden to break them up if things got serious.

Just as the conference was about to break for lunch, a sudden cacophony of movement made itself heard from the hallway.

Stumbling, shuffling, shouting. Several nations stopped talking and snapped their heads up. Soon enough, everyone was staring at the door. The sounds grew closer, and closer, and closer.

The double doors of the room boomed open. They had been thrown with such force that they ricocheted off the walls. Everyone jumped, startled. They stared at the doorway, trying to see who, or what, had entered.

A man, appearing to be in his mid-twenties, stood, arms and legs spread out in a full spreadeagle. His chest heaved, and he stared around, frantic.

He was wearing a strange traditional looking outfit, with pitch black shoes, knee-socks, trousers, and an overcoat. His double breasted vest was a bright crimson, as well as a kerchief tied about his neck. A knit hat with a tassel on the end was perched on messy, jet black hair. It appeared to be completely covered in frost and ice.

What shocked the room most, however, was not his strange taste in fashion, nor his frantic appearance. It was his eyes.

Or, in this case, lack-there-of.

Where his eyes should have been was darkness, like pools of liquid shadow. Pits that seemed to go one forever into his skull. In their depths was a light; low and red, like lava, or hellfire. The lights moved, much as the irises of any normal human would, snapping around like a man possesed.

He seemed to realize he was being stared at, and straightened up. He re-adjusted his clothes, almost self-consciously. He stood with his hands clasped in front of him, staring back at the gathered

He beamed at the nations, showing off teeth that seemed to be crafted from pure obsidian. The friendly gesture only made the nations more put off by this stanger.

"Góðan Daginn!" He greeted. "My name is Grímsvötn! Pleased to meet you all."


	2. Chapter 2: Incoming!

Author's Note: Chapter 2! Earlier than i expected, too.

We get to learn who this 'Grímsvötn' is. We also get to meet a couple of nation OCs (Ireland and the Faroe Islands)

Shout out to Dalasport for translating some stuff to Icelandic for me!

(if anyone else is willing to offer translating services for the Scandinavian languages, Faroese, or Irish, please let me know)

Don't hold your breath for chapter 3, I've got some nasty projects due as well as final exams, and it will be a miracle if it gets out before next week

Hope You Enjoy!

-Erin

* * *

No one moved.

Grímsvötn just kept smiling at them, unfazed by their shock. Everyone stared back, trying to figure out just who and what the hell he was. None of them had ever heard of this 'Grímsvötn'.

Suddenly, two more sets of foot-falls came pounding up the hall behind the strange being. Everyone craned their heads to see who was accompanying him. Two people skidded to a stop in the doorway, just short of where Grímsvötn stood.

The first was a man; tall, with a head of messy ginger hair and matching freckles. He put his hands on his knees in a desperate attempt to catch his breath. The owner of the second set of footsteps followed not too long thereafter. It was another, man, younger than the first, shorter and stockier with tousled, ashen hair. He stared at the nations, seeming to realize what had happened. He swallowed hard, as if to maintain his composure. The red-head eventually straightened up, and joined him.

They were definitely not whatever the red-eyed stranger was, but they weren't human either.

Most everyone recognized their fellow nation, the Republic of Ireland. There were several exclamations of surprise.

"He wasn't here doing roll," someone remarked.

"Why is he with that… thing?" someone else asked.

"Who's the other guy?" yet another added.

Denmark stood up sharply, apparently recognizing the second person.

"Faroe? What the hell are you doing here?" he asked, confused, and more than a little incredulous. This was met with more muttering. The Faroe Islands scowled at him.

"He's the _Faroe Islands_?" someone exclaimed.

"I didn't he know they had their own Nation!"

"I thought that was just part of Denmark."

Faroe looked like he wanted to say something, but everyone just kept talking. Norway meanwhile, was trying to figure out just what the hell was going on.

First, Iceland didn't show up, then, this _thing_ burst into the conference room. He wanted some answers, and he wanted them _now_.

"Would everybody please shut up!" his voice boomed. Every nation's head snapped around to see him standing, hands slammed down on the table. He was quickly obeyed, and Norway took his chance. He turned on the two nations and the stranger. "What is the meaning of this? Ireland: you were supposed to be here _hours_ ago! Faroe: you shouldn't even _be_ here, you're under the sovereignty of Danmark! And _you_! Grimsvoten, or whatever the hell your name is: who the heck even _are_ you?" When he was done, he watched them with an icy gaze. He waited, silently demanding that they answer him.

Faroe made to speak again, but was interrupted by Grímsvötn.

"Where is Ísland?" he asked simply. His smile had vanished, and he watched the room with those strange lights. Everyone just stared at him, not understanding what he was saying.

"He means: Where is _Iceland_?" Faroe translated. He had a strange, thick accent, but they could tell what he was saying.  
"Not here!" someone shouted from the South American section of the room. Several nodded, confirming the statement.. The three in the doorway looked at each other, clearly taken aback.

Grímsvötn's expression darkened, and he turned to Faroe

"En þú sagðir-!"* he hissed to nation.

"Ég hélt að hann væri hér!"** Faroe hissed back, concern in his voice. Ireland grimaced. He turned to the conference.

"Are you sure none of you have any idea where he is?" he asked the room. Everyone shook their heads.

"He's not answering his phone," Norway told him. A feeling in his gut was starting to make him very worried his little brother. It told him something very bad had happened. He just wasn't sure why...

Ireland's grimace deepened.

"This is bad…" he muttered. Faroe nodded in agreement.

Grímsvötn's eyes started to glow dangerously. Any sign of friendliness had completely vanished. He began to glower at the nations, much to the great anxiety of many.

"None of them had anything to do with this, Grim," Faroe warned, noticing the look. Grímsvötn dropped his gave to the floor, but he was obviously still angry

The Island nation straightened up, and stepped forward.

"Listen up!" he shouted, making sure he had the attention of each and every nation in the room. "Something bad has happened to Iceland! _Really_ bad!" He pointed at Grímsvötn. "_This_ is the personification of one of Iceland's volcanoes, and let me tell right now: they do _not_ wake themselves up unless something very serious has gone down! Now,Grímsvötn is relatively benevolent, but I will not say the same for his sisters. If any of you know where Iceland is, or might be, you best speak up **now**, or else!"

S stunned silence filled the room. Everyone's gazes turned to Grímsvötn.

A _volcano_.

None of them had ever heard of such a thing before. Countries? Obviously. States? Yes. Hell, even micronations and the U.N. had their own personifications. But volcanoes?

They looked Grímsvötn over again. Several shivered.

Norway stared right along with them. Iceland had never mentioned anything about his volcanoes being their own, separate beings. Why wouldn't he tell him anything?

He shook his head, and set it aside for later. Instead, he focused on what the other Nordic had said about something happening to Iceland.

"What do you mean, 'something bad'?" he asked, fixing his gaze on the trio.

Faroe opened his mouth to address Norway, but Grímsvötn stopped him with a hand. The volcano looked up, the fire in his eyes boring into the azure of the nordic nations. Norway watched, more than a little disturbed, as those lights rolled up, and his lolled to the side.

"Iceland is connected to the entire land. We are connected to our own volcanoes, the molten rock and the immediate area surrounding it. Our connections overlap in places, and through that we can feel what is happening to the other if need be. We know Iceland is in distress, though we can't be sure why. He is not on the island, so it is very faint," the volcano explained slowly. It sounded as if he was trying to recall something he remembered only vaguely

Norway marched over, planting himself directly in front of him. Ireland shot him a warning look, which he ignored.

"What happened to Iceland?" he pressed, voice growing tense. The lights rolled back down, and the volcano examined him.

"You are his kin," Grímsvötn remarked. "Noregur, are you not?"

"Yes," Norway told him, tightly. Grímsvötn suddenly smiled brightly..

"You must wait, Noregur. Someone is coming soon, and they will be able to explain much more than I," he told Norway. Norway frowned at this.

"Wait, what do you mean by someone else?" he asked. Ireland and Faroe also looked confused at this sudden change. Grímsvötn's smile split into that strange black grin.

"Why, the sisters, of course! Tough I will warn you, they have been whipped into a quite a fury." He looked rather amused by thought. "They should be here very soon! In fact, they should be arriving right... about… Now."

* * *

Translations:

Icelandic

* But you said-!

** I thought he was here!


	3. Chapter 3: Now Exiting the Frying Pan

Author's Note: Had to stay home sick today, so here we go! Chapter 3.

Get to learn some more about these volcano characters, and Denmark is an idiot. That is all.

Hope You Enjoy!

-Erin

* * *

The situation in that room could best be summed up with two, simple words:

Oh. _Shit_.

The nations were all frozen where they sat. Norway, Ireland, and Faroe stared at each other. Norway had no idea who these 'sisters' were, but they sounded like bad news. He looked to Faroe, who seemed to be the only one to have any idea what was happening.

The small Nordic looked absolutely stricken. His face was pale, and his eyes were wide. He was swearing profusely beneath his breath.

"What's going on? Who are the sisters?" Norway asked is a hushed voice Faroe met his gaze. He could see the distress in the younger nations eyes.

"This is bad…" he whispered, before turning away again. "This is really really bad…"

Norway was about to get his attention again, but he stopped. He held his breath, listening for what he thought he heard. The sound of slow, methodical footsteps made itself heard from the hallway. It was accompanied by the gentle _swish swish_ of heavy fabric, as if from long a dress. Or, a number of dresses. Norway glanced up sharply.

Three women were slowly making their way towards the conference room. Their faces were all eerily similar, as if they were siblings -sisters. They were all dressed in rather traditional looking dresses, all keeping with the scarlet and black colors of Grímsvötn. Two of them bore frost-crusted cloaks over their heads and shoulders. Their hair, or that which he could see of it, was pitch black, and their eyes…

The same fiery pits as Grímsvötn's rested where eyes should have been. Their faces may have been serene and peaceful, but Norway could see a intensity in in those red lights.

The first one stopped a few feet away from Norway. He was taken aback by her sheer height. She rivaled even Russia, the tallest nation. The flames of her eyes bored into Norway as she examined him.

She turned to the second woman, also tall, with a pitch black dress embroidered with crimson, and hair that fell all the way to the floor.

"Hvað heldur þú, systir?" she murmured. Her voice was low and dreamy, as if she were half-asleep.

"Hann er ekki hér" the long haired women murmured back. The first hummed, thoughtfully. She turned to the third, the tallest in the group, who also bore a frosted cloak.

"Og þú, Bárðarbunga; hvað finnst þér um þennan?" she motioned a pale hand towards Norway.

"þetta er bróðir hans, er það ekki" the third replied. She cocked her head at Norway, looking at him as a cat would look upon her prey. "Hann myndi vilja að hjálpa okkur"

Norway swallowed. He didn't understand a word of what they were saying, but he definitely did not like the way they said it. These beings -more of Iceland's volcanoes, he assumed- had an old and powerful aura about them. It set Norway on edge.

The first turned to Grímsvötn.

"Segðu honum hver við erum, bróðir," she instructed. Grímsvötn nodded. He stepped forward to address the room, prompting everyone to look up.

"These are three of my sisters: Katla," he motioned to the first, "Askja," he motioned to the one with the long hair, "and Bárðarbunga," he motioned to the third.

None of the nations were particularly eager to respond to the introduction. The three volcanoes were intimidating, looming there in the doorway. The three nations closest to them wisely backed away.

Katla strode forward into the room. Bárðarbunga followed closely, while Askja chose to stray towards the table. The two cloaked volcanoes removed their hoods, revealing their pale faces. All three were absolutely beautiful, even hauntingly so. Katla and Bárðarbunga looked almost identical, with angular features and porcelain skin. Askja, meanwhile, was noticably darker skinned, with a rounder, almost more inviting face.

Katla and Bárðarbunga examined the nations, staring down at them. Askja, however, found herself wandering around the table. She eyed each one curiously. Pretty much all of them shrank away from her gaze. She paused, however, when she came to the Philippines. The asian nation looked strangely unfazed by the volcanoes.

Askja cocked her head.

"Þú ert Filipseyjar, er það ekki? Segðu mér, hvernig hefur Mayon það?" she asked warmly. Philippines blinked, not understanding what the volcano had asked.

"She asked: how is Mayon?" Grímsvötn clarified. from the doorway

"Ah. Tell her she is well," Philippines replied. The nation then quirked an eyebrow. "I did not know you knew each other."

Grímsvötn translated, and then smiled.

"Many of us know each other," he explained.

"Wait, theres more than just you guys?" someone asked, hesitantly. Indonesia scoffed.

"Oh no, many of us have these beings," she explained. "I for one, have dozens and dozens. I can't even remember them all off the top of my head."

"I too have some of these at my place. You shouldn't be afraid of them, they are mostly neutral towards us, though some can be benevolent. There is no such thing as a volcano that wishes to cause pain," Japan added. The nations who did not have volcanoes of their own looked rather unconvinced.

"So, what; do they only appear at a certain time?" England asked, eyeing Askja warily. She was drifting towards the European side of the table.

"It depends. Some volcanoes never show themselves, others only when there is an eruption. Some volcanoes are friendly, and often spend time with their nations whenever they are active. It is _only_ when the volcano is active, however. Otherwise, they are almost… in a coma of sorts," Japan explained. Then he did a once over of the four volcanoes in the room. "At least, under normal circumstances. I am not sure what would prompt one to wake up on it's own."  
Askja continued with her lazy stroll around the table while her sisters merely watched from near the doorway. Most of the nations stayed silent, letting Japan's words sink in.

"So, why are these volcanoes here?" some else asked.

"We are looking for Iceland," Grímsvötn explained simply. "Faroe told us he was most likely here, but it would appear to be otherwise."

Another long silence. A few nations started muttering amongst themselves, but it was very hushed. They were all keeping an eye on the three sisters.

Askja stopped abruptly.

She had reached Denmark, and the nation was giving her a rather strange look. She cocked her head again. They stared at each other; Askja in confusion, and Denmark… no one could tell why he was staring.

Finally, Denmark spoke. His voice was small, barely audible, and absolutely awe-struck..

"It's finally happened; sling me over your shoulder and carry off to Valhalla you viking goddess," he whispered. Sweden and Finland, who were sitting to his side, choked before giving him looks that said they thought he had completely lost his mind. Every other nation in earshot did the same.

Denmark didn't seem to care, as he was still staring openly at the volcano.

Askja smiled lightly, and reached out a slender hand. She tapped Denmark on the tip of his nose, before continuing on her way.

Denmark leapt out of his seat.

"Shit!" he hissed, clutching at his face. "Fuck, fuck , fuck, fuck, that's _hot_!"

Askja gave him an amused smirk from over her shoulder.

"She likes you!" Grímsvötn declared brightly. Denmark was thoroughly unconvinced. He gave him a withering look, which the volcano cheerily ignored.

"That's what you get for flirting with a _volcano_, Dumbass!" Faroe snapped. Denmark shifted his gaze to him.

This little scene was soon interrupted, however, by one of the volcanoes observing the conference

"Grímsvötn, vertu svo væn að segja þeim að ég vil tala," Katla spoke suddenly. Grímsvötn blinked, caught off guard, but nodded all the same.

"Allt í lagi, hvað viltu segja?" he asked, voice serious. Norway watched the two volcanoes with narrowed eyes. He assumed they were speaking Icelandic, and he had no idea what they were saying.

"Spurðu hvort þau hafi einhverja vitneskju um hvar Lundinn er," she ordered. Grímsvötn made a face of realization, and nodded. He turned to the nations.

"Do any of you know where the puffin is?" he asked the crowd.

They all exchanged confused looks.

"Mister Puffin?" Norway asked, speaking up, "No. He should be with Iceland." Grímsvötn told Katla as much. The woman's lips were pulled into a frown.

"Þetta er áhyggjuefni..." she muttered. Grímsvötn frowned at her, not understanding what she was talking about.

"Hvað meinarðu? Hvernig er það áhyggjuefni? Hann ætti að vera öruggur!" he exclaimed. Katla turned to him.

"Ég er ekki viss," Katla said, coldly. Grímsvötn stiffened.

"Hvað heldur þú þá að hafi gerst?" he countered, starting to sound defensive.

"Ég held að fuglinn sé ekki með honum," Katla explained.

Grímsvötn didn't say anything. Instead, the volcano stared at his sister with widened eyes.

"Now what is it?" Norway asked, sharply. He got no response from the volcanoes, so he turned to Faroes. "You know what they're saying, don't you?"

The island nation swallowed hard, before looking at Norway.

"This has officially gone from bad, to worse," Faroe told him, simply. "_Much_ worse."

* * *

Translations:

"What do you think, sister?"

"He is not here,"

"And you, Bárðarbunga; what do you think of this?"

"This is his brother, is he not?" "He should be most interested in assisting us"

"Tell him who we are, brother,"

"You are the Philippines, are you not? Tell me, how is Mayon?"

"Grímsvötn, please tell them that I wish to speak,"

"Alright, what do you want to say?"

"Ask them if they have any knowledge of where the puffin is,"

"This is most troubling..."

"What do you mean? How is this troubling? He should be safe!"

"I am not so sure,"

"What do you think happened, then?"

"I don't think the bird is with him,"


	4. Chapter 4: A Rocky Introduction

Author's Note: SHORT chapter, sorry. But hey, a chapter none the less! Got a big character intro for anyone familiar with Icelandic folklore...

Also, I think this fic is not going to be the last we'll see of these volcano characters.

I live in northern California (and I mean TRUE north cal, not any of that mid state bay area sillyness) and I will be damned if I have these volcanoes and not have a fic for Shasta and Lassen, the two volcanoes in California (everything else is either extinct or hasn't erupted in so long it don't matter)

And with that: have a chapter!

(Also: my first fic on this site has hit 3000 VIEWS! W00T!)

Hope You Enjoy!

-Erin

* * *

Norway didn't think this day could get much worse.

Of course, Norway didn't think personified volcanoes were a thing that existed until that day, and he had been proven wrong quite spectacularly.

He stared at Faroe, like this entire thing was all the island nations fault.

"And just _how_ have things gotten worse?" he asked, trying to keep his cool. The fact that whatever was going meant something bad must've happened to his little brother was getting to him. He balled his fists to stop his hands from shaking

Faroe sighed apprehensively.

"Well, you know what Iceland's coat of arms looks like, right? The bull, the dragon, the bird, and the person?" Faroe began. Norway frowned. He didn't see what this had to do with the matter at hand.

Norway opened his mouth to ask Faroe what he was talking about, only to be interrupted by yet another commotion in the hallway. Everyone, including the volcanoes, whirled around to see what was going on.

Mr. Puffin, the loudmouth talking puffin who followed Iceland like an obnoxious shadow came flapping into the room. The bird landed on the floor, and hissed angrily. The bird's feathers were on end. He was clearly upset.

"Well, that answers that question," Ireland quipped from near the door. Everyone else stared at the bird.

"Yo; if the puffin's here, then where's-" Portugal began, pointing at the Mr. Puffin

The sentence was cut short when the _other_ thing in the hallway burst into the room.

At first, Norway thought it was simply an old man in gray clothes that had come barging in. He was wielding a formidable metal staff, and a scowl was etched in his bearded face.

His glare raked the room, before landing on Norway.

The nordic stifled a gasp as he saw just what the 'man' was. It was made completely of stone. It's skin, hair, and clothes were all hewn from the same weathered gray rock. It's eyes were flecks of volcanic glass, and seemed to glow with an otherworldly light.

It was like a statue that had come to life.

"**Where is he**?" its voice boomed like thunder. No one answered it. They all just stared at it like it had just dropped from the sky.

Its scowl only seemed to deepen. Mr. Puffin flitted from the floor to the statue's head, where he continued to puff and hiss.  
"_What the is that_?" several countries asked in more than a couple languages. The statue glowered at them all.

"I said _**where is he**_?" it boomed again.  
Faroe stepped forward, hesitantly. The stone man glared at him, but didn't say anything.

"Hvað ert þú að gera hérna?" The nation whispered in Icelandic.  
"_Hann er í hættu_!" The stone man hissed back. Faroe looked taken aback.

"_Hvað_?" Katla snapped.

Heads swiveled towards the volcano. She turned, and strode forward until she was face-to-face with the statue.

"Hvað meinaru með 'hann' er í hættu? Ertu að tala um Ísland!?"

"Já, ég á við Ísland, eldfjallið þitt!" The stone man snapped, not bothering to be patient with her. "Lundinn sagði mér að hann væri hér!"

"Hei!" Mr. Puffin exclaimed, as if he was offended. "Bara Ísland kallar mig 'Lunda', bastarðurinn þinn!"

"Nú, hann er ekki hér!" Katla growled. "Og kannski, ef þú hefðir unnið vinnuna þína," she pointed an accusatory finger at Mr. Puffin, "Þá værum við ekki að leita að honum! Afhverju ert þú ekki með honum?"

The volcano and the giant looked ready to start throwing punches. Before it could escalate, however, Ireland finally stepped up.

"_**Would the lot of you just shut up!**_" He shouted. The belligerents turned to stare wide-eyed at him. "I don't understand a word yer sayin', but somethin' tells me yer agruin' about Íoslainn. Now, you all better quit yer yappin' and tell the rest of us what the hell is goin' on here, and we might actually be able to figure out where the hell he went!" Ireland ended his little rant by fixing both Katla and the stone man with a hearty scowl.

The volcano seemed taken aback, but the stone man came right back.

"Well, do _you_ know where he is?" he retorted.

"Of course I don't! If I did do you honestly think I would be running around with Faroe lookin' for 'im?" Ireland barked. That silenced the statue.  
Norway watched the back and forth with confusion. He had heard Ireland had a fierce temper, but he had never seen it for himself. Neither had anyone else, judging by the impressed, if somewhat startled looks he got from the nations.

"Now," Ireland continued, motioning to Mr. Puffin, "I know who you are;" he motioned to the volcanoes, "I just meet all you;" and finally, he motioned to the stone man, "but you; who, and what, the _fuck_ are you?"

The stone man eyed Ireland. Then slowly, carefully, it straightened up, and brought his staff down besides him. His gaze passed over the entire room, silencing what few murmurs had been going before. In a voice like distant thunder echoing off a mountain side, he addressed the nations.

"I am called Risinn, the Guardian of the South."

* * *

Translations:

What are you doing here?

He is in danger!

What!? What do you mean 'he' is in danger? Do you mean Iceland!?

Yes I mean Iceland, you volcano! The Puffin told me he was here!

Hey! Only Iceland calls me Puffin you bastard!

Well, he isn't here! And maybe if you had done your job, we wouldn't be looking for him! Why aren't you with him?

And Ioslainn is short for An Ioslainn, Irish for "Iceland"


End file.
